Strong Poison

coffee which was standing ready upon the gas ring.’ Now, when the learned Attorney General heard the prisoner say that, he immediately asked what the coffee was standing ready in. The prisoner, apparently not quite understanding the purport of the question, replied ‘in the fender, to keep hot.’ When the question was repeated more clearly, she explained that the coffee was made in a saucepan, and that it was this which was placed upon the gas ring in the fender. The Attorney General then drew the prisoner’s attention to her previous statement made to the police, in which this expression appeared: ‘I had a cup of coffee ready for him on his arrival.’ You will see at once the importance of this. If the cups of coffee were prepared and poured out separately before the arrival of the deceased, there was every opportunity to place poison in one of the cups beforehand and offer the prepared cup to Philip Boyes; but if the coffee was poured out from the saucepan in the deceased’s presence, the opportunity would be rather less, though of course the thing might easily be done while Boyes’ attention was momentarily distracted. The prisoner explained that in her statement she used the phrase ‘a cup of coffee’ merely as denoting ‘a certain quantity of coffee.’ You yourselves will be able to judge whether that is a usual and natural form of expression. The deceased is said by her to have taken no milk or sugar in his coffee, and you have the testimony of Mr. Urquhart and Mr. Vaughan that it was his usual habit to drink his after-dinner coffee black and unsweetened.

“According to the prisoner’s evidence, the interview was not a satisfactory one. Reproaches were uttered on both sides, and at 10 o’clock or thereabouts, the deceased expressed his intention of leaving her. She says that he appeared uneasy and remarked that he was not feeling well, adding that her behaviour had greatly upset him.

“At 10 minutes past 10⁠—and I want you to note these times very carefully, the taxi driver Burke, who was standing on the rank in Guilford Street, was approached by Philip Boyes and told to take him to Woburn Square. He says that Boyes spoke in a hurried and abrupt tone, like that of a person in distress of mind or body. When the taxi stopped before Mr. Urquhart’s house, Boyes did not get out, and Burke opened the door to see what was the matter. He found the deceased huddled in a corner with his hand pressed over his stomach and his face pale and covered with perspiration. He asked him whether he was ill, and the deceased replied: ‘Yes, rotten.’ Burke helped him out and rang the bell, supporting him with one arm as they stood on the doorstep. Hannah Westlock opened the door. Philip Boyes seemed hardly able to walk; his body was bent almost double, and he sank groaning into a hallchair and asked for brandy. She brought him a stiff brandy and soda from the dining room, and after drinking this, Boyes recovered sufficiently to take money from his pocket and pay for the taxi.

“As he still seemed very ill, Hannah Westlock summoned Mr. Urquhart from the library. He said to Boyes, ‘Hullo, old man⁠—what’s the matter with you?’ Boyes replied, ‘God knows! I feel awful. It can’t have been the chicken.’ Mr. Urquhart said he hoped not, he hadn’t noticed anything wrong with it, and Boyes answered, No, he supposed it was one of his usual attacks, but he’d never felt anything like this before. He was taken upstairs to bed, and Dr. Grainger was summoned by telephone, as being the nearest physician available.

“Before the doctor’s arrival, the patient vomited violently, and thereafter continued to vomit persistently. Dr. Grainger diagnosed the trouble as acute gastritis. There was a high temperature and rapid pulse, and the patient’s abdomen was acutely painful to pressure, but the doctor found nothing indicative of any trouble in the nature of appendicitis or peritonitis. He therefore went back to his surgery, and made up a soothing medicine to control the vomiting⁠—a mixture of bicarbonate of potash, tincture of oranges, and chloroform⁠—no other drugs.

“Next day the vomiting still persisted, and Dr. Weare was called in to consult with Dr. Grainger, as he was well acquainted with the patient’s constitution.”

Here the judge paused and glanced at the clock.

“Time is getting on, and as the medical evidence has still to be passed in review, I will adjourn the Court now for lunch.”

“He would,” said the Hon. Freddy, “just at the beastliest moment when everybody’s appetite is thoroughly taken away. Come on, Wimsey, let’s go and fold a chop into the system, shall we?⁠—Hullo!”

Wimsey had pushed past without heeding him, and was making his way down into the body of the court, where Sir Impey Biggs stood conferring with his juniors.

“Seems to be in a bit of a stew,” said Mr. Arbuthnot, meditatively. “Gone to put an alternative theory of some kind, I expect. Wonder why I came to this bally show. Tedious, don’t you know, and the girl’s not even pretty. Don’t think I’ll come back after grub.”

He struggled out, and found himself face to face with the Dowager Duchess of Denver.

“Come and have lunch, Duchess,” said Freddy, hopefully. He liked the Dowager.

“I’m waiting for Peter, thanks, Freddy. Such an interesting case and interesting people, too, don’t you think, though what the jury make of it I don’t know, with faces like hams most of them, except the artist, who wouldn’t have any features at all if it wasn’t for that dreadful tie and his beard, looking like Christ, only not really Christ but one of those Italian ones in a pink frock and blue top thing. Isn’t that Peter’s Miss Climpson on the jury, how does she get there, I wonder?”

“He’s put her into a house somewhere round about, I fancy,” said Freddy, “with a typewriting office to look after and live over the